


November Third

by radioqueen



Category: The Bright Sessions (Podcast)
Genre: Acute Stress Reaction, Begging, Canon-Typical Misogyny, Dissociation, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Involuntary Arousal, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Groping, Non-consensual sex photography, POV Female Character, Patient/Psychologist, Psychoanalysis, Rape, Rape as Revenge, Self-Hatred, Shock, Unsafe Sex, Victim doesn't struggle, Victim forced to participate in her own rape, Victim reasoning with rapist, canon-typical use of the word "bitch", freeze response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 11:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13340283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radioqueen/pseuds/radioqueen
Summary: Set near the end of episode 37.





	November Third

**Author's Note:**

  * For [siltscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/siltscribe/gifts).



Joan always found Damien's sessions taxing. On this particular dreary November day, with his abilities newly restored, she found herself itching to pour a glass of scotch right there in front of him.

“Oh god, I missed this.” Damien said it like he was physically aroused. “Oh, it just— oh, it feels so good to have control again. You know what? I think I might actually be better at this than I was before.”

Joan rolled her eyes. “I’m thrilled for you.”

“You know, I don’t like your tone, Dr. Bright.” Damien got a dangerous glint in his eye. “Maybe I should make sure you know _exactly_ how it feels to be helpless and powerless while someone forces their own will onto you.”

Joan suddenly wanted to leave her desk and sit on the couch; she was immediately wary of that desire. Especially because there was a hint of wanting to let him do whatever he wanted to her, which was _not_ a desire she’d ever had on her own.

“I already know how that feels,” she said in her sternest therapist voice. “You’ve made me feel that way for the past two years. I understand that you’re frustrated, but if you don’t need my help anymore, I think you should just go. There’s no need to prove you’re in control, no matter what—”

“Stop psychoanalyzing me and get on the fucking couch!”

She wasn’t sure if it was fear or his imposed desire that drove her to do what he said, but she did it. She was trembling as he sat down next to her, so close she wanted to push him away. Instead, she sat there and let him grope her through her shirt.

“Damien, I know you’ve been frustrated by your circumstances the past month, but you _need_ to stop.”

“Why?”

“You’re about to commit an extremely serious crime. If you think the AM will just ignore—”

“The AM doesn’t scare me anymore.”

“They should.”

She was getting nowhere with threats. Maybe she should appeal to his ego.

“I know you, Damien. I know you’re not a rapist.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough. Think this through, Damien.”

“I’m tired of thinking about it! I’ve done nothing _but_ think about it for the past month.”

“If you do this—”

“Oh, we _are_ doing this, so stop stalling.”

“I’m not stalling anything, Damien. If you plan to rape me, then I’m certain you aren’t being stopped by anything as impotent as my words. You’re the one with all the power here.”

“You’re damn right I am.” Damien swallowed and then licked his lips. “Okay, uh… I guess I’ll just…”

He unbuttoned her blouse for her, opening it up. Joan shivered despite the space heater pointing at the couch. Damien mauled and squeezed her breasts like he’d never seen a pair before. It hurt, but Joan sat exactly where she was and let him do what he wanted.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said.

“I know. But I’m gonna do it anyway. I guess you shouldn’t have been such a bitch to me, huh, Dr. B.?”

“You’re right.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, what was that?”

“You’re right, Damien.”

“Ha! Go on…”

“I see now that I seriously underestimated how difficult the past month has been for you. I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize that and make efforts to help you work through those feelings in a way that got through to you. But Damien, I never deliberately controlled you. In fact, I tried very hard not to! I recognize that you feel angry, but attacking me won’t fix anything. You need to stop this right now.”

“No, nuh uh.” He sneered. “You need to know what it feels like. You say you didn’t control me, but… yeah, you did. You were a spiteful, cold-hearted bitch to me the whole month. You loved every moment of it. Don’t try to deny it.”

“Is this about your fear of losing control or your desire to punish me?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Stay in control, then,” Joan said. “Punish me by continuing to come to sessions. You have the power to make your own decisions! If you don’t like how what you’re doing makes you feel about yourself, you can take control and stop at any time. I know you, Damien. I’ve worked with you for more than a year. You’re many things, but I never thought ‘rapist’ was one of them.”

“I don’t think you wanna talk anymore, Doc.”

Joan really didn’t. She sighed and fell silent as Damien struggled to yank her cotton tights off.

“Man, how do these things even… ah! There we go.” Damien tossed her tights onto her desk.

Joan supposed this was a long time coming. Really, it was a miracle it hadn’t happened already. Joan tried to remember what she’d learned about sexual assault counseling in her studies. It hadn’t been her focus, of course, but it did occasionally come up in therapy. One was supposed to resist as hard as possible, at least until penetration occurred. Right? No, no, she remembered now: one was supposed to resist only if there was a good chance of escape. And it didn’t usually work with acquaintances, did it? Only strangers. What was she supposed to do if it was an acquaintance? A patient?

“Open your mouth.”

Joan did, automatically. Did this count as penetration? There was no protocol for this. And why the hell not?  Surely she wasn’t the first person to be intimidated into oral sex by her attacker. But perhaps it didn’t fit the narrative of “real” rape. After all, any sane person was supposed to bite as hard as they could in this situation. But even if Joan didn’t want to sit there without biting (which she did), it would have been incredibly dangerous and ill-advised to agitate someone who was already violent.

“You’re always running your mouth.” Damien grabbed a handful of Joan’s hair and held her in place against the back of the couch while he thrust into her throat. “I’ve wanted to do this for a _long_ time.”

He must have wanted her to choke and cough and drool all over herself, because she wanted to do that for no reason. Well, no logical reason, anyway. She wanted to gag hard around his cock to make him feel like he was impressively endowed. Joan closed her eyes to keep from rolling them again.

“Oh yeah,” he muttered. “Your mouth is even hotter than I imagined. Yeah, you’re just sitting there and taking it like I want you to. Fuck.”

She wanted to look up at him while he violated her mouth. She did so, reluctantly, and it made Damien twitch and leak salty pre-ejaculate onto her tongue. He pulled his phone out of his pants pocket and pointed it like he was recording her.

“Smile,” he said.

Joan glared at his phone. Damien laughed and forced himself so deep into her throat that she gagged again, her eyes watering over. When she opened her eyes again, he’d put his phone away. He wrapped both hands in her hair and raped her mouth over and over again until he finally pulled away, both of them breathless.

“Close one. You’re not getting off that easily,” he said, then snorted. “Kind of a Freudian slip, but you get my drift. Gotta make this last as long as I want it to.”

“You don’t have to use your ability on me,” Joan said. “I’ll do what you tell me to.”

“Yeah, yeah, until you don’t,” Damien said.

He pushed her bra down and pinched her nipples. The underwire bit into her ribs, but Joan tried not to flinch. She didn’t make a noise until Damien twisted her nipples so hard she yelped involuntarily.

“I bet you wish you could stop me.”

“Yes, I do,” Joan said.

He sat down next to her on the couch. “But you can’t.”

“No. I can’t.”

“You’re the helpless one now.”

“Yes. I suppose I am.”

Damien sucked noisily on her nipples, biting down on them occasionally just to hurt her, if the fact that she wanted to cry out in pain was any indication. When Joan again refused to make a sound, Damien took to smacking her breasts with his open hand.

“Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked.

“A little.”

“God, you’re no fun. Is total, submissive obedience for one hour too much to ask for? Lie on your stomach.”

Joan did what he said without hesitation. Her mind and heart were both racing, but struggling wouldn’t do anything but waste her energy. She was desperate to know if he was going to use a condom, if he was tested for diseases, if he was planning on sodomizing her just to inflict the maximum pain and humiliation on her. But her artificial desire to stay quiet and compliant overruled her desire to ask questions.

“Now how does this work?” Damien flipped Joan’s skirt over her back. “Maybe I just…”

He raised her hips and stuck a throw pillow under her. Joan helped lift herself, hating herself even as she did.

“That’s better.” Damien heaved himself on top of her. “Now be a doll and help me find the right hole, will you? Wouldn’t want to put it in the wrong one.”

She reached behind her back and grasped him. He wasn’t aligned properly, so she inched her way back until the head of his dick was inside her. He slid in easily, thanks to the angle and the copious amounts of Joan’s saliva.

“Ahh, that’s good.” Damien flopped down onto her, pinning her with his weight. “You’ve been a big help, Dr. B.”

Joan wanted to scream at herself for helping Damien rape her. She wanted to claw at her own skin until she snapped out of wanting to lie still for him. That would be unproductive, though. It would be more productive for Joan to counsel herself. What would she tell a patient? She tried to remember a particularly salient conversation she’d had with an atypical rape survivor, many years prior.

_“I just froze! I didn’t know what to do. I forgot I even had a superpower. I just went along with it.”_

_“Your body knew instinctively what you needed to do to survive. Who knows what would have happened if you’d revealed your superpower to him? He might have harmed or even killed you if you’d struggled at all. I’m very glad you didn’t. You survived, and that’s the important thing. We can work on all the rest.”_

Damien was groaning obscenely in her ear, pumping his hips against her. Joan’s left arm was wedged into the gap, and her right leg dangled uncomfortably off the side of the couch. If she stretched, her toes brushed the carpet. Joan elected to hide her face in the upholstery, even though that made it hard to breathe.

She wanted to cry to make him feel powerful, but even Damien couldn’t actually control her tear ducts. Joan was too numb and hollow inside to cry. She was as grey yet devoid of precipitation as the overcast November sky outside her window.

“Please stop,” she managed at last.

“Why? Does it hurt?”

“Yes. I haven’t had sex in a long time, and it hurts. Please, Damien. You’re hurting me.”

“That’s too bad.” Damien made no move to slow down or move more gently. “Guess you should have respected me from the beginning if you wanted me to be nice to you now.”

“Please, Damien. We worked together for long enough to build a relationship. I know it wasn’t a perfect therapeutic relationship, but I had—and still have—empathy for you as a human being. I really believed that was mutual. Don’t you feel even the slightest remorse for hurting me like this?”

“Yeah, keep talking like you’re my therapist,” Damien grunted. “It’s hot, you trying to reason with me while I fuck you on your therapy couch. Totally plays into the whole fantasy.”

“You’re not ‘fucking’ me,” Joan said. “You’re _raping_ me.”

“Potato, Potahto,” Damien said. “You used to be a willing participant when I did this to you before. You know, in my jack-off scenarios, like, last year. But I guess I’ve grown as a person, ‘cuz I like it better this way.”

Joan buried her face back into the sofa cushion. Her one consolation about Damien before had been that he’d seemed completely uninterested in committing major or violent crimes. If he had truly changed his mind about that, if he left her office and hurt someone else… She should have done something differently. She wasn’t sure what, but something. There must have been some way she could have handled him the past month that wouldn’t have led to this. The therapist part of her brain knew it wasn’t her fault, that she’d done everything she could to the best of her abilities; the rest of her brain knew that she probably deserved this pain and much, much worse.

“You getting turned on, Dr. B.?”

Joan had been too lost in her thoughts to notice how her body was responding to him. But now that she shifted her attention to the physical sensations, she realized she was much more lubricated than expected. Her face burned.

“It’s an automatic physiological response,” Joan said clinically. “It’s like laughing even though you hate being tickled.”

“Sure it is. Still probably pretty distressing though, right?”

“Yes.”

“Bet you wish I’d stop it.”

“Yes, I do.” Joan said. “Will you?”

“No. Tell you the truth, I don’t think I’m even doing it. I want you to be miserable, but it never occurred to me to do that by making you get off on your own rape. Though now that you mention it...”

Joan was consumed with the need to grind between him and the throw pillow, to meet his thrusts with her own. She gave into her sudden lust, loathing herself all the while. But the pressure was too much—both the pressure inside her and the pressure of being wedged between his weight and the firm pillow pressing into just the right spot. She fucked herself against him until she cried out softly, throbbing around Damien for a few horrific seconds.

“Did you just come?”

Joan shook her head vehemently.

“Haha! No, you definitely did! Oh, god, that’s pretty embarrassing, Dr. B. Weren’t you just lecturing me about how I was raping you, what, five minutes ago?’

There was nothing she could say that would de-escalate his mocking, so Joan decided not to respond. Damien grabbed her hair again, forcing her head back in an uncomfortable arc.

“I’m going to come inside you, _Joanie_ , and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I know,” Joan said quietly, defeated.

“How does that make you feel?”

“It’s... less than ideal.” She wanted to be more upset about it than she was. “I… I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Too bad what you want doesn’t matter.” He pumped so frantically it would have hurt if her body weren’t collaborating with him. “Guess you just have to lie there and take it.”

She _wanted_ to be upset, but the numbness drowned out everything else. In her head, she was already cleaning herself, cleaning the couch, pouring a glass of water, taking two aspirin, reapplying her makeup, picking up Plan B, picking up Thai food, driving home, talking to Mark...

Shit. She’d have to tell Mark. She didn’t want to, especially since he would blame himself, but it was better to tell him right away. He would never forgive her if he learned about it via telepathy. They’d promised no more secrets. The last thing Joan wanted to think about was what had happened, or what was still happening, rather. But somehow, she’d have to tell Mark —

“Ohhh, god, fuck!” Damien collapsed on top of her, his weight making it hard for her to breathe. “That was better than I was expecting.”

Joan didn’t move. She was leaking around him onto her couch, just to add insult to injury. She’d need to have that reupholstered before her next patient. The pillow would need to be trashed. But Joan was still too numb to care about those things. She just wished Damien would leave.

As if sensing that, he hopped up a moment later, wiping himself off with some of the tissues from her coffee table. Before Joan could move, she heard the click of his phone camera. She turned her head to see him taking a picture of her with her lying with her skirt hiked up, steadily trickling his filth onto her office sofa.

“Why did you do that?”

“I’m never one to miss a blackmail opportunity,” he said. “Besides, I want to remember this moment.”

Joan bit her lip. She didn’t dare ask him to leave, lest he decide to stick around indefinitely. She just rested her cheek back on her couch, waiting for him to get bored and go. She didn’t even stir when she heard him rifling through her purse. She rarely carried cash anymore, not since the first time Damien had gone through her wallet in a session.

“Slim pickings, Dr. B.” Damien dumped the contents of her purse onto her floor. “Well, I guess that’s that. Hey.” He turned on her, filling her with the desire to tell him the truth. “Is this a trap? Telling me to go see Wadsworth?”

“No.”

“Good. Give me her home address, just to be safe.”

Joan didn’t move. “I don’t have it.”

“Fine. You know, I think I know someone who does.”

“Damien—”

“Thanks, Dr. B. Ciao!” Damien opened the door.

Joan swallowed. “Damien, stay away from Mark.”

“I will. For now. First I gotta go see the wizard.”

Joan didn’t move for a long time after the door closed. The errands would get run eventually. For the moment, she finally felt completely disconnected from her physical form, and it was an immense relief.

When Joan pushed herself up, she was shakier than she’d realized. That wasn’t good. Between that and the dissociation, she suspected she was suffering from acute stress reaction. She’d need to find a therapist of her own, someone specializing in trauma-focused CBT and preferably EMDR…

It took her a moment to realize her office phone was ringing. She’d gotten lost in her thoughts, a dirty tissue crumpled in her hand. It was dark outside. Joan rose and answered the phone.

“Hey, I thought you might still be there,” Mark said cheerfully. “Is Damien gone?”

“Um?” Joan shook herself. “Yes, I think so.”

“Great! Can I ride back to your apartment with you? I went to that coffee shop down the road, but I’m a little worn out now. I thought maybe I could ride with you instead of taking the bus.”

“Of course.” Joan tossed her dirty tissue in the bin. “I just need a minute.”

“I can wait while you do your paperwork. Your office is nice and quiet.”

“It’s not that, it’s….” Joan couldn’t articulate the words. “How far away are you?”

“About five minutes. Why?”

“Nothing, it’s fine. I’ll see you soon.”

Joan hung up and took a deep breath. She was going to tell Mark what had happened, even if it killed her. No more secrets. But first, she was going to clean up the office and pull herself together so she didn’t scare him. Joan opened her drawer, took a gulp of scotch straight from the bottle, and set to work.


End file.
